“You can all go to hell; I will go to Texas” ― David Crockett
Explaining the US can be tricky, especially since the truth is that in spite of our best endeavors, we really are in many ways a “nation” of separate countries. The word “state” was precisely chosen as a replacement for “colony” when our upstart ancestors declared independence because it meant a sole, sovereign entity.
Which makes for fascinating political philosophy, I hear you ask, but what’s the point? Well, having lived there once (and I admit it was largely a negative experience, though I wouldn’t mind trying out Austin since I’ve heard good things), my family and I sometimes joke that Texas at its heart really is a separate country altogether. London recently confirmed my suspicions by way of a chalk artist in Trafalgar Square.
Wait for it…Confirmed!
Unless of course they’ve actually gone through with the threats of some of their most disgruntled citizens and seceded lately? Have I missed an announcement?
“I would be most content if my children grew up to be the kind of people who think decorating consists mostly of building enough bookshelves.” ― Anna Quindlen
Last week Ruth from The Planned Adventure had an extra ticket to a blogging and freelancing event hosted by fabulous and hilarious ladies from Domestic Sluttery, and very kindly asked me to go along! It was a fun evening and I got to hear a lot of really good stories and advice from some ladies who know what’s up in the world of London writing. Many notes were taken, many business cards exchanged.
The event itself was held in Made’s showroom in Notting Hill Gate which impressed me greatly. Knowing approximately squat about interior design and decor, unlike Ruth who has a real eye for it, I wandered the room between speaking and Q&A sessions and took in the funky designs for your view pleasure.
Fun print and light fixture.Shelving, for the beekeepers out there.I miss our proper sofa. We’re making due with a super cheap plastic loveseat, but it’s just not the same.More lighting. Indicative of my other decorating desire, a standing lamp since a single light bulb doesn’t quite cut it on long winter nights.The best design in the design showroom? Shelves and shelves containing individual description cards for each of the items sold.
“We often miss opportunity because it’s dressed in overalls and looks like work” ― Thomas A. Edison
Another busy week, my possums. I’m so grateful to Ruth for getting me out of the house on Wednesday to go to a freelancing event (more on that later), but I was honestly worried I wouldn’t be able to go at first and spent the whole day at a frantic pace to carve out that evening. Ditto for pizza on Monday.
You wouldn’t think it, especially based on last week‘s theatre adventures, but January started off fast and hasn’t slowed down for me at all. I’ve been helping a client with a major rebrand project since mid-December and it’s basically eaten my life. I have tons of personal emails to catch up on that are just piling up, thank you notes still to send for Christmas gifts and letters, and even job hunting (while still very much an active project) has given way to it on the priority list. Since I’m so many hours ahead of the client I’m usually kept up quite late every night, and I’ve started obsessively checking my phone like one of those people I used to poke fun at. Because every time I step two feet away from my flat, a major and highly urgent project arrives in my inbox. Without fail.
It’s a bit stressful, but really rewarding at the same time. All of 2013 seemed to involve being thrown into situation after situation that was completely uncharted territory for me, which I loved even though it frequently intimidated the hell out of me, and 2014 looks to hold more of the same. I never thought I’d be working on some of the projects I am, or have the skills I’ve been able to acquire. I’m still figuring out how to balance competing demands and projects (and occasionally failing to find a balance at all, reduced to eating gummy candy for lunch and working until 2am), and there are still many things I can do much better than I’m currently doing. But I’m learning quick and working hard. So, even though I’m feeling pretty tuckered out from this week, I’m happy as a clam.
Here are your links, tell me what you’ve been up to lately in the comments!
Goodness knows the sports world has a long way to go in respecting and embracing social/gender/cultural inclusion across many groups of people, but I still think this is kind of a cool story.
True fandom never dies, I guess. I was a Spice Girls fan myself, unabashedly, but this level of devotion is quite foreign to me. Then again, I’m currently on a Sherlock kick so perhaps I need to judge less harshly.
h/t to Jeff for this commercial about the less glamorous but wholly necessary side of paper. I have a kindle for convenience sake, and I enjoy its many uses, but you will have to pull printed books from my cold dead hands.
Medical science is really just a staggering thing. This will either make some really awful dystopian scenarios come true, or…honestly I’m not sure I can think of an alternative. And I’m the woman who’d be fine with sprinkling the various elements and chemicals into a jar, letting is sit for a few months, and popping the cork on a fully developed infant as a reproductive system.
“Those pizzas I ate were for medicinal purposes.” ― Amy Neftzger
Lauren (the fabulous woman behind Aspiring Kennedy) did such a fabulous job organizing a girl’s night out in December for people who knew each other – or didn’t know anybody and just wanted to meet people – through blogging, writing, expat-ing, etc. in London. It was a great night and I met some great ladies who I’ve been hanging out with ever since. Well, Lauren decided to do it again!
A slightly more low key affair, she organized a pizza night Monday evening at Otto in Notting Hill. They do cornmeal crust pizza with funky toppings that you order by the slice. May I personally recommend the grape, brie, and balsamic? Because I inhaled that sucker!
I really appreciate when people more established in any area or community take the time to introduce new people around, so I’m really grateful to Lauren for arranging such fun, low key ways for people to just hang out and make friends. Ruth and Katie and I bonded with a couple of hilarious ladies that I can’t wait to hang out with again.
“We must have a pie. Stress cannot exist in the presence of a pie.” ― David Mamet, Boston Marriage
“Pie” means something quite different in Britain than in does in the US. Most pies Stateside are sweet concoctions of fruit and/or cream, trotted out typically in times of celebration. Pies over here are usually meat and vegetable dishes (mostly meat, let’s be honest) in some form of gravy or sauce, and totally wrapped in pastry. There are a few exceptions, such as mince pies which are small little bundles of goodness that have largely given up their meaty past, though there are a few holdouts scattered throughout the Isles.
I have nothing against meat pies, indeed I’ve inhaled not a few delicious ones in my time, but I’m afraid in this respect I will always be a Yank at heart.
My family has two pie recipes that are sacrosanct, an apple and a pumpkin. The pumpkin is the real treat and it is incredibly labor intensive, it takes months of preparation when you consider that the pumpkin puree is homemade. Courtesy of Halloween jack o’lanterns. However pumpkins never made it big here via the Columbian Exchange quite like turkeys and potatoes did. This fact, coupled with the reality that I have none of the equipment necessary to make it meant that Christmas Eve dinner this year was going to be an apple affair.
As it turns out this too was a labor of love that took two days start to finish.
I have to be blunt. British baking goods selections are dinky. Seriously small. Not just their packaging (which we’ve covered), but the actual space they take up on store shelves is tiny. Back in our old haunt the local grocery store had an entire aisle set aside for baking. Here at our nearest Tesco, we have three shelves that take up about a quarter of one side of an aisle. Finding what you need can be maddening.
I have theories about this, but my chief on is that like much of Europe, Britain has a larger number of bakeries and designated craftsmen who create their baked goods. Not that these don’t exist in America, but we also have a history of frontier dwelling which meant that for generations the well off might have a cook (and the extremely wealthy a French pastry chef), but most of us were responsible for providing our own treats and that sort of got into the culture. The French have boulangeries, the Brits have bakeshops, the Americans seem to do more DIY. Which I largely don’t mind, though I admit I do enjoy baking. And I use it constructively (I tend to make cookies when I’m angry or exceptionally bored, it’s probably kept me from using that energy less constructively. The results are pretty tasty too, rage cookies are the way to go, kids).
But I digress. Pie.
First I had to find a pie crust recipe that didn’t call for shortening (a heathen American device). I was fine with this because, butter. Then I whipped it up by hand because we have no kitchen equipment besides a mixing bowl that’s a third of the size of what we’re used to, before leaving it to chill in the fridge overnight. The next morning I rolled it out with a highball glass in lieu of a roller (see: lack of kitchen equipment).
Apple pie, no explanation required, right? Moving right along.
One of the (many) secret ingredients in this particular plate of mouth goodness is grated lemon peel. Which did not exist in that one quarter of an aisle space dedicated; believe me, I scoured that store. So I painstakingly shaved off paper thin slices of fresh lemon peel and chopped it to bits by hand. Do you know how long it takes to get a teaspoon of that stuff this way? A lot longer that I anticipated!
I admit until this point I was getting a bit stressed because we were attempting a lot of food for just two people, but in the words of Tevye, “TRADITION!”
Luckily after I tossed the seasoned and sugared mixture into that labor intensive crust, the grouchiness could simply no longer put up a fight. Even intense domestic irritation fades when confronted with this thing, it is that powerful.
We ate it for breakfast for days afterward. Regretting nothing.
Like I said, a bit of a labor of love. But in the end well worth it. However, I admit I will not be repeating this until next year, or unless I’m entertaining guests. Or until I get more and better kitchen equipment.
“Each age has deemed the new-born year The fittest time for festal cheer.” ― Sir Walter Scott
Throughout December, both of us made noises along the lines of, “We should do something for New Year’s Eve,” whereupon the other would say something to the effect of, “Indeed we should!” After which we would go back to working/munching/watching British quiz game shows/goofing off. For two usually highly organized people we largely took the holidays easy this year – with the exceptions of dinner and the service (which were both planned weeks if not months in advance).
The trouble is that in a city like London, you have to have a plan for New Year’s or the chances of you getting trampled, mobbed, or left out in the cold are pretty high. But almost everything is pricey and booked well in advance. So by New Year’s Eve, just as we were emerging from our food and nap induced sluggery and ready to go out and do something, we realized that our chances of a nice night out were slim.
Nevertheless, we both dressed up and headed to our favorite restaurant in Covent Garden, hoping against hope that most people would be waiting until later to start their festivities and/or heavy drinking and space would be available. As it happened, we got a prime spot at the bar and the universe missed its chance to teach us a lesson in responsibility. Ha ha!
I still heartily endorse the elderflower presse. Mocktail of champions.
We ate delicious and artfully prepared food.
And we got delicious deserts which were so incredible that they actually made my phone’s camera to spontaneously readjust its own lighting feature…I think. I’m not a photographer, people. Interestingly, popcorn has had a bit of a fad year here in London, so apparently I’m trendier than I realized!
Then, because we are old fogies, we walked home across Waterloo Bridge past the throngs of people already camping out for the fireworks show. This year the organizers went in for a multi-sensory experience combining flavored and scented aspects with the already well hyped, traditional exploding. It sounded intriguing, but frankly not enough to stay up in the freezing cold and inevitable bad weather when…
…we got to watch them from the comfort of our own sofa while drinking tea and cuddling.
And that was how we rang in 2014. We might do something more ambitious some other year, but this year, it was just right.
“All the world’s a stage.” ― William Shakespeare, As You Like It
What a week! And it’s not even over, Jeff and I are going to Jeeves and Wooster in: Perfect Nonsense tomorrow evening. With Matthew Macfadyen and Stephen Mangan – otherwise known as Mr. Darcy and Dirk Gently. Somehow in one form or another I’ve combined Shakespeare, superheros, Jane Austen, Douglas Adams, P.G. Wodehouse, and most 90s romantic comedies into this week alone. I’m pretty sure fanfic has been written about this very scenario in some dark corner of the internet.
In summation, I have not a single thing to complain about. You may find me this weekend by following the intolerable air of smug contentedness that will be wafting from my desk as I work away, happy as a clam. Here are your links, kittens, and tell me what you’re getting up to this weekend.
As a former flatmate of mine once put it after a frustrating day of shopping for underpinnings, “I’m not sure bosoms are worth the trouble.” This rundown of a 17th century guide on their maintenance – yes, you read that correctly – might lend force to her proclamation. Skip this one, Dad, even though it’s hilarious. “We find by lamentable, if I may not say fatal, Experience, that the the world too much allows nakedness in Women.” Dear me, how glad I am that the writer never lived to see the lasciviousness that is jeggings, it might have killed them!
“God’s will! my liege, would you and I alone, Without more help, could fight this royal battle!” ― William Shakespeare, Henry V
Awash with theatrical good fortune, I decided to meet up with Katie this morning so we could try our mutual luck at getting day of tickets to Henry V, starring Jude Law, with the Michael Grandage Company. We got in the queue early, and none too soon because the line was even longer than Coriolanus on Monday. But somehow I scored literally the last ticket of the day (Katie was just ahead of me and got in too, never fear).
What is happening?! Which good fairy/benevolent deity do I owe some serious devotions to?
“That thing is magical, and you are never taking it off, do you understand me? – C.
This is the tale of how a navy sports coat started a chain reaction that culminated in Tom Hiddleston being mere inches away from my face. And that’s not even the most amazing part.
Jeff had been on the hunt for a jacket for a while and since January kicked off sale season, we headed down to Seven Dials for a look around a few shops that intrigued us. He found what he was looking for and on the way back to Leicester Square tube station, we literally stumbled upon a poster for a production of Shakespeare’s Coriolanus, starring Tom Hiddleston at the Donmar Warehouse.
Donmar is a small, not for profit that has a really strong reputation as a producing theatre, and can boast nearly bursting at the seams with some of the highest acclaimed actors in Britain on any given performing night. We hadn’t heard of this performance prior to coming face to face with the poster, but naturally we both were wild to go see it. In addition to Hiddleston, whom we both really like, it had Mark Gatiss (of Sherlock fame amongst a great many other things), Deborah Findlay, and the list just goes on. Seriously, read the cast bios. Everything’s represented from Restoration comedy to Game of Thrones.
We also figured we had about a snowball’s chance in hell at getting tickets (most were sold out weeks in advance), but decided to try our luck anyway. On Monday morning we doubled teamed it; Jeff stationed himself at the computer in order to try and get a couple of the few that they release online, while I got in the queue at the theatre itself in the morning to try and snag some in person.
Even arriving quite early I was at the end of the line. My hopes sank a bit, but I decided to wait it out. At one point the queue divided into those hoping for day-of tickets and those chancing their luck with the handful of tickets provided by the main sponsor, leaving me with fewer rivals but still at the end. I watched people ahead of me walking away from the booth, clearly not willing to purchase what was available, but I’d already guessed we’d be getting the “standing room only” type. By the time I trotted up to the box office window and chirruped, “What’s left?” that was indeed all that remained, and only a handful at that. I was just thrilled to get it, I actually skipped back towards the tube station texting Jeff the good news.
Gratuitous sidenote. I couldn’t tell what so many people were snapping photos of while waiting in line, until I got into the main box office and saw this. And immediately followed suit. What? I’m human!
We worked all day and then headed out to our evening at the theatre excited to see the show. The Donmar has only 250 seats, and a significant portion of those are standing room, which actually makes it feel not unlike going to see a traditional Shakespeare performance at the Globe, except that the locations are reversed. The privileged get seating on the ground floor with the stage and first level, while the cheap seaters line the narrow balconies and looked on.
The middling seats.Where we were standing.
It was mere seconds to show time when an usher tapped me on the shoulder and asked if Jeff and I were there together. I answered in the affirmative, wondering if we’d done something reprehensible without being aware of it. I actually was in the process of pulling out our tickets to prove we were there legally when she continued, “We have a pair of unclaimed seats on the main floor, would you like them?”
What sort of a question is that?! Feeling a bit dazed she led us down to the main floor and seated us on the third row corner, with a completely unimpeded view of the stage that (I later discovered) also put Tom Hiddleston’s cheekbones within touching distance. His cheekbones rank right up there in my book with Vegemite’s Bandersnatch’s and Jeff’s, so you can imagine the thrill this caused, to say nothing of having a truly marvelous vantage point of the whole play.
We sat down just as they started the whole, “Please silence your mobile phones now,” spiel when I happened to glance to my left. And saw Rufus Sewell, one of our very favorite actors, sitting ten feet away from us.
And that, kittens, is how I died.
Exiting the theatre.
The production itself was excellent, really one of the top Shakespeare performances I’ve ever seen. The set was minimal and used to superb effect, while the performances were absolutely spot on. The themes of power, populism, and politics intertwined cleverly with the creative, and the degree and type of special effects were exactly correct. Coriolanus is ruthless, dangerous, compelling, and persuasive, and you find yourself at times siding with nearly all of the characters at one point only to question your own judgement five minutes later.
An absolutely banner night that, as far as I can tell, defied every single law of probability.
in a heartbeat.
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Small Dog Syndrome 